Silent Hill 1 Novelization
by lemex
Summary: An attempt to novelize Silent Hill 1.
1. Quick Hello

I think we were only ten miles from Silent Hill when I noticed how weird Cheryl was acting. We had stopped at this all night diner so I could rest – driving when tired was never something I found very pleasurable – have a cup of coffee and relax. Myself, I was happy to sit in that place for a little while, listening to whatever they had on the radio, and read with a cup of coffee and a sandwich. I ordered Cheryl a tuna sandwich but she hadn't touched it. This was, I think, when I noticed the oddity of where we were and what we were doing. I had let Cheryl decide the place of out next holiday.

Why had I done that? You might ask me so I'll answer you anyway. Well, I couldn't think of anywhere to go myself, I don't like flying, and she really wanted to go to this place Silent Hill. She always loved hearing me talk about it because it was where I used to take my late wife all the time. After her I hadn't been back, but I always had fond memories of the place. I always relayed those fond memories to her when I told her about the town, but, that would not in any way explain the obsession she had over Silent Hill. She didn't care if there was only the theme park, Lakeside Amusement Park, is that what it's called? Other than that the town is more for hikers and nature lovers, and people interested in Stephen King I suppose.

For some reason the thing that most sticks in my mind about that diner is when Cheryl came back to our table having gotten two straws for her coke (kids like drinking from two at the same time, lord if I know why) and I was part of the way through one of Poe's shorter works and we were sitting in silence for a little while before Cheryl asked me 'Daddy, is Silent Hill scary?' I remember laughing 'No no'. I can't remember exactly what I said after this, but this moment was memorable just because it was so out of place.

We set off for Silent Hill shortly after that. The trip was going well: I was able to keep myself awake with the window down, Cheryl had fallen asleep and I liked the peace and quiet. The last thing I remember of the drive is this: Something moving in front of the car, Cheryl – awake – yelling something, a scream, a break in the film of my memory.


	2. Silent Hill

Silent Hill – a novelisation

1

I know I dreamt of something. I don't remember what: all I know is that I dreamed. I had the vague unsatisfied feeling that comes with not remembering a dream, and I spent some time trying to remember it. It was futile.

I felt like I was sitting, though my mind told me I was still in bed, about to set drive to Silent Hill for a short holiday. I did this every year; driving. We never went by plane - I don't like them very much. Besides, I always liked the drive, it relaxed me. There is something about that, I think, is etched behind the prefrontal lobes of every man's brain in the world: just packing up and going for an adventure ... I know I like it at least.

I eventually opened my eyes but all I could see was white, and snow falling.

_Wait. What? I thought I was in my bed at home?_I remember thinking, I was still naively clutching on to the illusion that I was about to set off. I then remembered everything from the previous day. I remembered the road, the darkness; I remembered the song that was on (Bob Dylan's Like A Rolling Stone), that police woman on her bike; and then the crash.

And then the crash ...

The crash was the last thing that came back to me, and it was greatly unsettling. That girl wondering in the middle of the road: why was she there? I remember I had been hanging my arm out the window, Cheryl was asleep, and I was trying to get some air on my face (long drives make me tired, I find doing this helps) then I heard a yell, I turned and saw the girl in the road, her hands out before her, shielding herself from my 4x4. I spun the wheel, trying hard to miss her, and went straight into a wall.

And that was it. That was all I remembered.

'Oh, I feel so stupid.' – I heard this in my own voice; I have no idea if it was just in my head or if I had actually spoke it.

I leaned forward and grabbing my forehead. A headache was setting in: I could feel my skull tighten; it felt like there was water boiling inside my head. I glanced up and inspected the damage on my side of the car; through the windshield the damage didn't look too bad - the framework looked a bit crumbled - but nothing too bad. But I really needed to get out and have a better look before I started estimating the cost.

I looked over to Cheryl: 'Hey, you ok?'

She was gone.

_Oh my god! Where did she go?_

All I saw was the empty passenger seat, the open door and the road beyond, with the snow still drifting along its surface. I panicked, but tried as hard as I could to stop myself from stressing, or thinking imaginatively stupid things.

I looked into the back seats: she wasn't there either. My mouth dropped open but I didn't care: all I thought about – all I could think about - was my daughter.

I looked back at the open passenger door, and then to my door as I pushed it open and climbed out of the car. From that moment everything else seemed trivial; even my headache was thankfully standing aside for me – I just needed to find Cheryl.

I staggered through the snow scared, thinking only one thing: where is she?

Cheryl, my little girl, was gone. That was all I could think. My beautiful, seven-year old was missing, and I didn't even know how far I was from town. Silent Hill was close – but I couldn't see anything through this fog.

I noticed something else that was unsettling me too, the fog - It seemed unnaturally thick; and what looked like threads and clouds of dancing dust spiralled around me, like some African tribal ritual. My vision was limited to a very small sphere, maybe twenty meters or so - that was my guess. Everything beyond this sphere was shielded with a dull white colour.

The darkened outlines of buildings soon began to materialise in the depths of the fog. I walked over and looked through a window, still amazed at how utterly crippling the fog was being. You couldn't really see anything with any clarity at all unless you where near it somewhat. It was even a little scary in itself. But as I looked into these buildings – houses and shops mostly – I began to really get that rather weird sense of place that seems so strong in Toluca valley. I was in Silent Hill; there could be no mistaking that, I could just _feel _it. It was like the land did not want you to leave.

I remembered - reflected, really - on packing for this holiday; I remembered Cheryl being so excited about it. 'Why do you want to go to Silent Hill?' I remembered asking her as she jumped about giggling, 'The place isn't all that great you know?' I said to her. But she didn't want to hear what I thought, she just wanted to go to Silent Hill; and was insistent on it. And I just couldn't say no either.

_So ... why can't I hear anyone?_

I figured no one had seen me on account of the fog (at least, this is what I thought) and so I yelled out with the only word I could think of shouting: Cheryl. Cheryl. Cheryl.

At one point I stopped and looked around. There were shops and houses all around me; the fog had cleared up slightly and I could see a little further. Silent Hill was silent; nothing seemed to move, nothing seemed alive. 'It's quiet' I said, speaking to myself 'too quiet ... this place is like a ghost town ... CHERYL!'

I turned a street corner and stopped dead.

Standing in the middle of the road there was, or what looked to be, a young girl, far enough away to be obscured by the fog. The figure was about the same size as Cheryl, and seemed somehow feminine at this distance. I couldn't see the person very clearly however, so I said 'Cheryl?' to see if the figure would respond: speaking loud enough for the person to hear.

'Is that Cheryl?'

I know the figure heard me because as soon as I spoke the figure moved away, stepping deeper into the fog. I ran toward this person but they started running as well, going as fast as I was. 'Where are you going?' The figure turned into an alleyway 'Wait!' I shouted 'Stop!'

_God damn it!_

I was running quickly now.

My unhealthy lifestyle was now hitting me, and hard. I was running after this figure with every amount of energy I had; and I didn't want to slow down, but I could feel my heart pounding against my ribcage, and my muscles began to tire within a short space of time. I started to think as I chased this darkened figure: why is she running? Is she scared? The idea that this figure might not be Cheryl never crossed my mind until much later

_Oh god!_

I shouted again, trying to get the figure to hear me - hoping that if it was Cheryl, she might recognise my voice and slow down.

The figure turned another corner. And awful sound screamed out – it was awful: It sounded like a painful screech, as if something had died. This sound vibrated through me with great force, and it sent a shiver down my spine. I didn't know exactly what I thought it was, but I knew in an instance that I didn't like it.

I heard small bang soon after. My heart sank, and my imagination ran wild.

I was relieved when I found out it was just a gate being opened and banged shut. I flung the gate open, allowing another hideous screech to offend the peace, and dashed into what I suspected would be a small garden.

The word garden, I found - as I briefly glanced around, was the wrong word to use in almost every way. It was in one word: featureless. There was simply a back door, the gate I had just ran through, a tiny dog house, and large slabs of concrete that covered every inch of territory; obviously, the main colour of this area was a dull, industrial gray that made it seem anything but homely. I saw another, much narrower alleyway at the far end of the place, I checked the door on my side but it was locked. The sound of the gate was the only thing I had heard, so I was guessing the figure had ran down there. That was what I was hoping anyway.

I ran at it, slower than I wanted to: something was troubling me.

I was trespassing, in reality, and that made me paranoid. But I did had more pressing matters to worry about than something like that – I tried to tell myself that it was something that was, given the circumstances, very trivial; besides (and this was where I was really hoping) I was sure the owners would understand if I explained things to them. Hell. They might even be able to help me in some way.

Something snapped below as I began to run: it was an awful sound, and it felt like I had kicked a grassy outcrop - like you were stepping on a large frog. I looked down at my foot. I don't know what I was expecting to see, but I can't imagine it thought it would be anything remotely like what I saw.

It was - or what appeared to be, at least - the remains of a dog: skinned and let to bleed all over the floor.

_Awww – that's sick!_

I couldn't believe I had not seen it when I came in, but I could not let it stop me, I had to keep moving. I jumped over it and ran into the alleyway, my footing pounding on the hard floor sent shockwaves and echoes bouncing off the walls and (while amplified) re-entering my ears, making a racket like something a Punk band would make. Pipes hung down in random succession, and the surrounding buildings looked to be taller here: this alleyway seemed more urban, more city-like than the Paleville I remembered. Though we spent most of our time in South Vale, we did visit this area once as my wife and I were leaving town; we wanted to buy some cokes and snakes for the drive back.

This memory of my wife almost made me start to reminisce, but I broke myself away from it. It would do me no good. There was a corner, and turned into it without slowing down and ran into a gate. I didn't just allow it to stop me like any graceful person might have, no, I slammed into it like an idiot.

_Good Harry!_

I flung it this gate open, feeling no small amount of annoyance, and ran through.

However, I soon came to a total stop as I noticed something very strange. It was dark, and getting darker with every step I was taking. Needless to say disturbed me greatly. But I tried to get my mind back onto the task at hand and began walking foreword again.

Shortly I found that it was so dark I could hardly see anything, and I was beginning to panic. Thankfully, I had a solution to this. I pulled my Zippo lighter out and flipped it open. I lit it with a quick snap of my thumb and forefinger (I still enjoyed doing tricks like this) and then held it above my head so it would illuminate as far as possible. This Zippo was something I always carried around with me. I used to smoke pretty heavily when I was a younger man, but now I only have one or two a month; if that; but I never officially gave it up, I just severely cut back. And that was (and still is, even as I write this) the way I like it.

I was slow with my footing. Being careful not to let my worry, or adrenaline take my rational mind prisoner. However, like a Thomas Pynchon character, I could feel the old sensations of paranoia begin to make a home in my head.

How long had I been walking before things began to change?

I don't know – and the truth is: I don't want to. And change was the best way I could think of describing this phenomena: it was the only way I could think of describing it.

I came across a blood stained wheel chair, overturned and next to a bed of some unusual style in an enclave. I think it was at this point when I stopped feeling like anything I was seeing was real in any way. In all honesty, I felt like I was in a dream, or high on cannabis. Whatever was going on all I knew was: I didn't like it.

Soon after the bed and the wheelchair the floor began to change.

It started by feeling somehow thinner; and soon it wasn't even a real floor, but a wire mesh. I felt like a chicken in a battery farm. The mesh extended onto the walls as buildings seemed to recede, unveiling a black oblivion. I didn't know what was worse? That what I was seeing was real, or that my mind was capable of creating such things.

There was something hanging off of the wire mesh wall not far ahead. As I approached it I was attacked by a terrible scent. It was like nothing I had ever smelt before – an awful rotting smell. I knew what it was straight away: it was a body.

It was awful. I can't even begin to describe what it looked like. I wanted to turn away but it fascinated me and I just couldn't turn away.

_Oh ... my .. god._

Something sounded behind me. It was a low, guttural growl. I turned around, a natural reaction despite my terror.

What I saw was the final thing I remember with any real clarity.

It was a child sized monster with dirty-orange coloured skin and long menacing blade-like claws. I opened my mouth to scream but have no memory of what sounded, if anything at all. I scrambled away from them but the wire wall had closed around me. I was trapped. So I did something I would never have done under any other circumstance: I kicked one of them, falling over in the process. My body slammed on the wire floor. I could hear my own scream this time. I could feel the floor vibrating.

Everything was hurting; but something hit the back of my leg and my body screamed with pain.

_AAHH! Gurh ... er ..._

Everything went black. I don't know what happened after that. I felt like I died.


	3. The Policewoman

2

I awoke. I was lying on something that seemed to disappear to my left, and rise on my right. I wasn't in a bed, and I wasn't in my car either. In a move that was almost animal-like, I pushed myself up and eyes opened. It was like being shocked back to life with a defibrillator, or something like that. At least that's how I imagined it. I was... somewhere. There was a table just opposite, with chairs and small cases of red and yellow sauces, and windows with blinds that let in enough white, dead light.

There was a squeak, and then footsteps. My head darted around for whatever was making the noise. A police officer, a woman: a vision of a downbeat Laura Ashley as she might have been in another universe. The police officer marched from one side of the room to the other with a bemused smile and step. She pulled up the seat across from me and sat down. I shifted myself around and pressed my head into my hands and resting against the table that divided me from whoever my companion was.

'Was I dreaming?'

Then I heard a voice: 'How do you feel?' I looked up. The policewoman was looking intently at me.

'Like I've been run over by a truck' I said laughing, 'But I'm alright - I guess'

'Glad to hear it' she said, then she leaned back and crossed her legs, 'You from around here?'

'No. I'm just a tourist. I came here on vacation ... I just got here'

'Shame ... the only person I've seen in this town is you' she said. It took a while for the words to set in.

'Where is everybody?' she uncrossed her legs again.

'I'd tell you if I knew, the streets are empty and I've not found anyone, at all, in any of the buildings. The phones are out, and the radio too ... all I know is that something ... bizarre is going on.' I looked around.

'Have you seen a little girl? Just turned seven? Black hair?' I asked, 'my daughter.'

'Sorry,' I couldn't accept what I just heard, or how chillingly she passed off the word she said. I tried to put on my best polite smile but it was useless. The worst part was that I couldn't think, I couldn't do anything. 'I'm not sure what to say' she said 'Out of season weather, the fog ... all I know is that something has happened, and quite recently too. That's all I know.'

'Hummm' I groaned. It was all I could do.

'What's your name?'

'Harry, Harold Mason. C-call me Harry.'

'Well Harry, my name is Cybil Bennett. I'm a police officer from Brahms, the next town over. I'm going to call in some reinforcements, would you be ok with waiting here for me?'

'I've got to find my daughter'

'No way, it could be dangerous out there'

'Well, in that case I need to find her now! Cheryl's my little girl!' an inferno was charging within, I could feel it, but Cybil made little reaction.

'Have you got a gun?'

This stopped me. I had never been asked that before – had anyone? 'Uer ... no. No I don't.'

'Take this,' she said pulling her sidearm out, 'and hope you don't have to use it' she placed in on the table.

'Remember, before you pull the trigger know who you are shooting. It stops you blasting me by mistake.'

I couldn't do anything except look at the gun before me.

'I'm going back to call in some reinforcements' she said getting up and walking to the door.

'Wait wait,' I said. She stopped and looked dead at me. 'Just wait.'

'Don't worry, I'll be back soon, just hold on. I'm just giving you this as a precaution. I'll be back with help as quick as I can' I nodded and she left.

What to do now? What could I do? I looked outside into the oddly dead looking falling snow and at the windows running one entire side of the cafe. I noticed a little sign in the window that said 'Help wanted – waitress/waiter' and then the cafe phone number. I stood in silence a moment and the entire world seemed to reflect that. It was eerily, almost unnaturally quiet. Something in that was creepy, and I'm not entirely sure I could explain what that was. It was just weird.

I turned my gaze back to the gun before me. It was a Glock, a standard Police sidearm. I had only ever used a gun once before, and I was not in any way an enthusiast. In fact, I hated the things. I couldn't work out why she left me with it. But I was still coming out of shock-paralysis, and it was (or at least felt) like some time before I picked it up and looked at it.

'What was it that John told me' I muttered as I answered my own question: looking down the iron-sights. 'The iron-sights' I said, 'that's how you line up a shot.' Years before, when doing research for my novel, my friend John let me try out one of his guns on a shooting range. That was a relaxed day out that ended with us getting a few beers at some bar, and me detailing my entire novel to an obviously uninterested friend. This was different.

I looked about the cafe with the gun still in my hand. There were things on other tables, sauce bottles and shakers mostly. I got up off the chair I was sitting – and before that laying – on and wondered over to the counter. There was a map of the town for tourists in a holder, and a small Police flashlight that Cybil had obviously left.

That was everything that looked vaguely useful. I was looking beyond the service counter and into the kitchens when I heard something behind me. Something was ringing. I looked around, trying to find out what it was. It wasn't a loud ring. But it seemed, as seconds went on, to be getting louder. I walked around the cafe, until I found the source of the ringing. It was a small red radio. 'What's going on with this thing' I said, picking it up. I felt like I was in a dream.

Then a far window smashed and I looked over. Something was flying in. It was a huge bird, its wings almost membranous. I looked at it, unable to move until it lunged for me. I got down, and using a table as a make-shift barricade, I crawled along the floor, trying to get away from it. My muscles were aching, and breathing sweat. My heart was gibbering away to itself. It banged on the table above me, and then flew down, landing on the other side of me. Its thump against the floor resounded, and I looked over at it. It was a horrible parody of life, a red pterodactyl. I scrambled away from under the table and stood up, shooting at it. I fired four shots and it fell over, it didn't move after that.

'This is not a dream!' I said, unable to stop myself, 'What's happening to this place?'

I ran out of the cafe and into the milky white world of the town. As soon as I pushed the moaning door open I felt the chill of the outside. The lazy falling snow flakes started attacking and pricking at my skin in I looked at the map in my head to get my bearings. I knew the road I had been driving on, and knew which it was.

After a few minutes of checking I had traced the path I had apparently taken before, to that alleyway, and found a small note indicating where I stood. I knew where I needed to go. "Well Harry' I said to myself, 'why are you wasting time?'


	4. Interregnum 1

Interregnum 1

I remember the first time I came here with my late wife, Jane. I had just sold my second short story and Jane, always the more adventurous with our money, wanted to go on holiday to celebrate. This was a silly idea, we have no money I remember protesting but she wouldn't listen to me. I don't care Harry, you need a break from all this and besides it might help you somewhat. A trip might even inspire you, who knows? I do, I remember saying (but at that time I was being mostly inspired by Mr. Johnnie Walker and helpings of F. Scott Fitzgerald) Jane would have none of it. She was, of course, right and the next month we were packing our car with just enough for a short trip and setting off for Silent Hill. Shit, I remember her saying: I forgot the damned sun cream. Forget it, how expensive can it be? Suppose so, she said pulling out a cigarette, mind if I stick something on. Sure, I said, anything so long as it isn't that Eric Clapton bloke. No no, Pink Floyd. After a few days we arrived in town, and we found our hotel easily, one of the smaller hotels on the lakeside and then went out to the downtown area for sun cream. I remember vainly checking the book store to see if it the magazine with me in it and it did. I'm not proud, but I just couldn't resist the temptation. There were a good few people out and about I remember, and Jane and I sat in a cafe drinking coffee at some point watching the crowd of people go past. What's wrong? I asked her, she had been quiet. Harry, she said, I'm. She put her cup down hard, it clanked on the table. She began to cry. What is it? I asked. Harry I'm ... does not matter. Later that night she told me she was baron.


End file.
